Last Words
by Shahzadi
Summary: Luke's last thoughts as he lays dying. R&R please!


A/N: I posted this on FFN over a year ago but it was accidentally deleted.

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO. All rights go to Rick Riordan.

**Last Words**

My left side is bloodied. I can still feel the pain from where I cut myself—_stabbed _ myself, with no hesitancy, unleashing all the hate I bear for Kronos. _Bore _for Kronos, if he actually is dead. I glance down at the blade still gripped in my hand—a knife, made of Celestial bronze, short but quick. Annabeth's. I'd know it anywhere.

"Good. . . blade," I croak. After all, it's the blade that's supposed to kill Kronos. Kill me. But that's the price I have to pay, and it's one I'm willing to follow. It's my fate.

I can feel them around me. Percy, at my side. Annabeth and Grover are there too. I want to say so much to her, tell her things that have been left unsaid between us for too long. It's all swirling around in my mind, but I've got to start with what's most important. I don't have much breath left.

I gaze at her. Got to get to the point. I say to her, "You knew. I almost killed you, but you knew. . ."

"Shhh." Her voice trembles and her gray eyes, usually so strong and full of steel, are full of tears instead. "You were a hero at the end, Luke. You'll go to Elysium."

I feel rueful then, and I want to smile a rueful smile as well. But I don't think I can. It'll take too much effort, and the pain's too great.

I shake my head. Weakly. "Think. . . rebirth. Try for three times. Isles of the Blest."

Elysium is Heaven. It is bliss. I've never known anything like it in real life, but I want to try again. I want another chance. Maybe it's asking for too much, but what kind of person can settle into a paradise like Elysium with so many regrets weighing heavy on his heart?

Annabeth sniffles. She looks like that wild-eyed seven-year-old Thalia and I found so long ago, less aggressive but just as vulnerable. "You always pushed yourself too hard."

I hold up my hand. It's burnt and charred and ugly, but that doesn't matter right now. Annabeth touches my fingertips, and though I can't feel them anymore, I can still feel the warmth that radiates into my cold body.

There's one more thing I need to ask. And with the pain, with all the blood, with the quick seconds slipping by, it doesn't seem so stupid anymore.

"Did you. . ." I cough and I can taste iron on my lips. "Did you love me?"

An image suddenly flashes through my mind when I say this, and it's of Thalia. Thalia who isn't here to see me die. Thalia who I still want to say so much to. . . but probably won't ever get the chance to do so. Not just because I'm dying. But because she'll never listen.

Annabeth wipes her tears away, but her eyes instantly fill up with more. "There was a time I thought. . . well, I thought. . ." I see her turn her head, and I can also see who it's towards. Percy. I'd smile if the pain wasn't too distracting. If my lips weren't so bloody.

"You were like a brother to me, Luke," she says softly. It's funny hearing my name after so long, and in such a tender voice, too. "But I didn't love you."

This answer satisfies me. I'd expected it too. I nod to show her my acceptance, but then pain shoots through my arm and I wince.

"We can get ambrosia," Grover says urgently, hopefully. "We can—"

"Grover," I cut through. His hope at a time such as this is endearing, really. His concern after all I've done is less than what I deserve. But I know I'm done for. And these are my last words to him. "You're the bravest satyr I ever knew. But no. There's no healing. . ." A cough racks through my chest, tearing up my lungs, disturbing my already dying breath. And it _hurts_. Hurts so damn much. It hurts like I'm dying, which I am.

There's one more thing I need to say. The cause I stand for, the one I lived for, the one I killed for. And funny, isn't it, that the last person to kill was myself?

I grip Percy's sleeve and look at him earnestly in the face. He's looking back, all weary and pained. And I don't blame him for being thus, either.

"Ethan. Me. All the unclaimed. . . Don't let it. . ." My voice is becoming hoarse. It's dying away. "Don't let it happen again."

I know that I'm angry. I feel angry. But I am a man phrasing his death wish, and so I'm literally pleading as well.

"I won't," he replies, and I see the willingness in his eyes. The conviction. "I promise."

_I promise_.

My last request has been heard. And soon, gods willing, it will be fulfilled as well.

So I surrender. I surrender to the pain, I surrender to death. I surrender to the hope that I'll find the everlasting peace I was never able to feel in life.

A/N: I posted this on FFN over a year ago but it was accidentally deleted. Anyhow, I hoped you enjoyed. R&R please.


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